


in the sun, i'm blind

by zcinmalik



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Ladyhawke Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Plot(s), Curses, Knight Liam, M/M, Magic, Minor Niall Horan/Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Minor Niall Horan/Louis Tomlinson, Nobility, OT5 Friendship, Priest Harry, Protective Liam, Protective Zayn, Protectiveness, Royal Zayn, Thief Louis, thief niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 04:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11775372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zcinmalik/pseuds/zcinmalik
Summary: “This man might wander into my dreams, too, some night. Wouldn’t it be nice, if I could pretend we’d met before? I’ve waited a long time, for such a lord.”





	in the sun, i'm blind

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [Alex](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/) for being such a wonderful, generous beta and the source of the fic title (from ["Come Now," by Gregory and the Hawk](https://youtu.be/csitBlRSSnE?t=16m22s))!
> 
> The events presented here are fictional. Please don't share this with any of the real people mentioned or referenced. Thanks!

There was a period of days that turned into weeks, during which Liam convinced himself that their condition was temporary. That all too soon, once he was able to find a way into Aquila, the curse would be broken. Zayn’s absence was agony, the fruitless attempts to speak to Zayn as if he could truly understand were torture. Every morning when Liam came back to himself, feeling as rested as if he had awoken from a long night’s sleep, to find pages and pages of parchment onto which Zayn had poured desperate ideas for what they might do had been hellish and terrible, but Liam had allowed himself to believe that all would soon be put to right.

And if Liam had truly thought about it, he would have thought that this hope would last for far longer than it did. He was no novice to the ways in which the mind reacted to pain; his years as a soldier had taught him well how humans responded to the conditions in which they were put. But somehow, he had thought that his hope would last. _For at least a year_ , he used to tell himself, _if not three. I have time before I go mad with it._ Not that he ever truly believed that the curse would last that long, but it was the thought that buoyed him. Even if the curse could not be broken within a year, he would not lose hope for long after that.

Thirty days. Liam remembered distinctly the day he found that he not only had become used to the torment, but also no longer truly thought of it as temporary. It was his twenty-fourth day of birth, thirty days after the beginning of the Bishop’s curse, and he awoke– or transformed, he supposed– to find that the pain had become a monotony. Today was not the day that Liam would find passage into Aquila, nor was it the day that he would drive his sword through the Bishop’s chest. Today was a day like any other, a day of routine, and his curse was now routine.

 

* * *

 

Over six months after the beginning of the curse, during a sunrise like so many before it, Zayn’s body began to change. He heard, from a distance, the sounds that meant that Liam’s was doing the same. Zayn had begun to avoid watching whenever he could; not because the vision itself was upsetting, but because feeling himself lose his humanity as Liam regained it made the image of Liam’s body being restored far less joyful than it should have been.

The beasts cried, in different tones, and Zayn felt the now-familiar agony of his body turning on itself, becoming something it was never meant to be. But as they cried, as Zayn’s ears thrummed, a different noise joined the cacophony of the forest. Zayn’s breath caught in his chest, even as he continued his irrevocable change.

The impossible sound, which he had never hoped to hear, which Liam had nevertheless sworn someday would come, was being produced by the alarm bells of Aquila.

 

* * *

 

When Liam entered the tavern, he felt so adrift that a large part of him was tempted to turn around and immediately go back outside. How long had it been since he had been indoors, among people? What was he to do, in this moment, when he didn’t even have Zayn with him for comfort?

He straightened when his overlong dalliance at the door caused a large group of people spread out over a few tables, but clearly traveling together as a unit, to turn and stare. Projecting as much confidence as he could, he strode to the bar, where he ordered a drink and willed the tavern tender not to make anything of the way that his voice croaked from lack of use. The group went back to their conversation, their chatters and murmurs a little too casual to be entirely organic. Liam took a small table in a corner, and told himself that it was none of his concern. Let them speak however they wished, as long as they spoke of what had caused Aquila to raise its alarms.

Time passed, and though it was no more than a quarter hour, Liam felt himself grow anxious to hear or see something of use. The group did not speak of Aquila, and he supposed that he should have anticipated this. This tavern was miles and miles from the city; this group looked to be travelers, and if so, why would they have any care for or knowledge of the goings-on in Aquila?

Liam was on the verge of standing up, whether to try and probe the tender for information or to abandon the tavern as a lost cause, he had not decided, when the front door opened and two young men sauntered in.

Ignoring Liam and the other patrons, the men immediately made their way to the bar, grinning brightly.

“Whatever is most expensive,” one said loudly, slapping a large bag of coins down. He had a naturally mischievous face, of the sort that made Liam wary.

“Louis!” the other chided, but his beam did not abate.

“And the same for everyone here!” Louis continued, sweeping his arm behind him to take in Liam and the group of travelers. “As long as they’ll share in a toast, of course.”

“And what are we toasting to?”

Liam glanced over at one of the men seated near the center of the cluster. He was staring at the newcomers with dangerous amusement.

“Niall?” Louis said expectantly. His companion promptly seized his drink, turned to face the room, and raised a toast with great ceremony.

“We drink to two very special men,” Niall announced. “The only ones to have seen the dungeons of Aquila and lived to tell the tale.”

Before Liam could react, the travelers all began laughing.

“Then you drink to more than two, little man,” the leader said. “We’ve all of us–” he gestured to himself and his eleven companions– “seen those dungeons.”

Liam could have groaned aloud. Suddenly the things that he had noticed about the group earlier took on a new, unwelcome meaning.

Niall and Louis exchanged glances with one another, but clearly had no suspicions that anything was amiss.

“Blacksmiths, perhaps?” Louis asked, unimpressed. “Carpenters. Stonecutters, even. But you surely don’t claim to be prisoners from inside Aquila?”

Liam closed his eyes, a small sigh escaping his mouth.

“I never said that we were prisoners,” the man replied, standing to unsheathe his sword.

A split second passed, and then the criminals scrambled for the door, trying to dodge the guards who lunged at them. They both managed to successfully evade capture until they were almost at the door, Niall slipping out of grasps as if he were coated in oil, Louis viciously elbowing noses and stomping on feet, but at the last moment, the leader of the guards– the Marquis, Liam realized, now that he had a good look at his face– punched Louis hard, and Louis stumbled heavily to the ground. Niall shouted, and tried to run to his companion, but he was caught by the arms between two guards moments later.

“You bastard!” Niall yelled, and in his struggles against the men who held him, lifted both feet at once to kick the Marquis directly in the chest, managing to send him staggering backwards and gasping for breath.

Liam, who had been staring at the mess before him and desperately trying to piece together how he was going to get what he needed with nothing but a knife to his name, took advantage of the Marquis’ temporary destabilization to sprint forward, seize him from behind, and hold the blade to his throat.

“Stop!” he ordered, and was relieved to see that everyone did, even Louis, who had lurched back to his feet, his face bloodied, and been on the verge of trying to fight off yet more guards.

The guards stared, as did the criminals, and the Marquis was still heaving for breath.

“You two,” Liam said, nodding at the criminals. “Out. Now.” He was pleased to hear that his voice sounded much more sure about all of this than he actually was.

They promptly obeyed, practically sprinting from the small tavern together.

The Marquis, his chest still heaving, was otherwise still against Liam’s body. As Liam slowly walked backward toward the door, taking the Marquis with him, the guards stared back and forth between them intently.

“Captain Payne!” one cried out suddenly. She was one of the younger guards, and Liam jolted when he looked into her wide eyes and recognized her. He thought that he remembered her name as Francesca. “What are you doing?”

“The _captain_ ,” the Marquis snarled, “is a traitor, as you were told months ago. I thought that he would never be stupid enough to return.”

Liam couldn’t have replied even if he wanted to. Words failed him as he looked at the guards’ expressions of shock and recognition. He shoved the Marquis hard, turning to bolt out of the door, and didn’t dare look back.

It wasn’t hard to catch up with the criminals, who were trying unsuccessfully to steal Liam’s horse.

“He won’t move for you,” Liam said unnecessarily. The two men spun around to look him and then bolted away. Liam swore and quickly untied Watson. It had been so long since he had ridden the horse that he found himself clumsy, and he cursed his own ineptitude at a skill he had once been able to perform in his sleep.

Watson was fast enough, though, that once they hit a gallop, they caught up to the criminals within a minute. Liam overtook them on the right side to turn and cut off their path moments later.

“Get on,” he ordered. “Unless you want to be arrested. The Marquis is on his way.”

“Hell no,” the one called Louis said. His left cheek was going to purple into an ugly bruise.

Liam leaned down and seized Louis by the front of his shirt. Before either of the criminals could respond, Liam lifted Louis into the air, causing his feet to dangle above the ground. Louis began swearing and struggling viciously, but Liam kept a firm grip on him and looked down at Niall.

“Do I need to drag you both, or will you come willingly?”

Niall, wide-eyed, glanced between Liam and Louis. A second of silence passed, before the sound of a dozen horses being mustered could be heard, far too close for comfort. It managed to make Louis go still in Liam’s grasp, and a moment later, Niall was hauling himself up behind Liam and seizing his waist.

Liam sighed in relief, helped Louis scramble on, and urged Watson into a gallop.

 

* * *

 

“Really,” Louis drawled. “Whenever you want to let us go is fine.”

The sun was low in the sky, and though Niall was less inclined to voice the sentiment than Louis, he agreed with it. He was grateful enough for the stranger’s– Liam, he had called himself– having saved them, but Niall was exhausted and didn’t know how much longer he could stay upright on the horse.

“We’re stopping here for the night,” Liam said.

 _Here_ , Niall saw, when he leaned to the right to look past Liam and Louis’ bodies, was an abandoned shack nestled among the trees of the forest that they had first entered a few hours ago.

“I have to take care of Watson,” Liam continued, and allowed Niall and Louis to dismount before he himself did. “He’s never had to carry three riders before.”

Though it was an impressive feat, and the horse did seem exhausted, its sides heaving with breath, it was an enormous steed. Niall was unsure how Liam had somehow acquired a mount that looked like it belonged at the head of an army, but he had to admit some professional admiration if nothing else.

“Who did you steal this from?” he asked, patting the horse’s flank.

Liam gave him an offended look.

“I didn’t–” he began sharply, then cut himself off, his face flushing the slightest bit. “Well. I didn’t _originally_ steal him.”

“Sure,” Louis said. He had wandered to a small puddle of rainwater and was vigorously rubbing dried blood from his face.

Liam led his horse to a small stable set away from the shack, where it began lapping water desperately. As he tended to the horse, Niall had a silent conversation with Louis, who was trying to inform him that they were going to leave immediately.

Niall shook his head and mouthed, _the guards_. They were still out there hunting, and Niall had no desire to abandon the only person who had shown an interest in preserving their lives besides themselves. Louis gestured at Liam’s back and gave Niall a look that he had long ago learned meant _absolutely not_.

“There’s dried meat and fruit inside,” Liam called behind his back.

Niall immediately widened his eyes at Louis. They hadn’t eaten in nearly two days. Louis groaned, half in annoyance and half in desire. It was barely a second before they were nearly running toward the shack.

Being a shack, it was hardly larger than the horse’s tiny stable, but Niall couldn’t be bothered to care as he helped Louis dig through the piles of blankets that lay strewn on the floor. Finally, bundled up in one, they found a large sack with preserves and began wolfing its contents.

Niall and Louis were both still eating when Liam entered, glanced around, and nodded.

“Stay inside tonight and don’t go out for any reason,” he ordered. Niall glanced up at Liam, then at Louis. Liam ignored their skeptical expressions, adding, “Lock the door.”

“Why?” Louis demanded. “Where are you going?”

Liam simply turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

Louis seized an improbably fresh apple from the bag, took a large bite out of it, and said, his words muffled around the food in his mouth, “We’re leaving tonight.”

 

* * *

 

Through the shack’s sole, pitiful window, they watched the sun set. Niall was reluctant to leave a perfectly nice shelter in which they could finally get a proper night’s rest for the first time in years, but Louis was adamant that no good would come of staying with a strange man who would probably kill them as soon as look at them, and he said as much to Niall.

“Then why did he save us?” Niall argued.

“Who knows?” Louis said. “We’re not sticking around to find out.”

He watched Niall shake his head in mute disagreement, but Louis would not be swayed. Niall was always inclined to believe the best in people despite irrevocable evidence to the contrary, and Louis would not endanger them just to indulge in that bad habit. He didn’t care if it meant that Niall complained or moped for a few days, as long as he was alive to do so.

So, with Niall unhappily following close behind, Louis led the way out of the shack and into the night. They crept for the first few hundred yards, wary of Liam lurking around, but soon enough Louis felt that they were out of immediate danger and could begin walking at a brisker pace. He had considered stealing Liam’s horse, but given how adamantly opposed it had been to any attempts to take it away from the tavern, trying again would have simply been a waste of time.

Not more than half an hour into their trek, a sudden and terrifyingly close howl broke the relative silence of the woods. Louis froze in his tracks, recognizing it at once.

“Wolf,” Niall whispered, so low as to almost be inaudible.

Louis’ mind raced—where was it? Which way would it be heading? Could they afford to–

Once more, the wolf howled, though this time, it was even closer. Louis turned and shoved Niall back toward the shack.

“Run.”

He knew, even as they raced through the forest, even as Niall reached back to seize him by the hand, that this was the stupidest thing they could do. Hadn’t Louis’ mother always told him never to run from a wolf? But the panic and adrenaline flooded his body, and he couldn’t help it. So they ran, their stolen boots loudly crunching against the leaves and detritus of the forest floor, and it wasn’t until the faint outline of the shack was in sight again that Louis tripped and fell.

He let go of Niall’s hand even as he was still falling, willing Niall to just keep running, but of course, Niall immediately stopped and turned as he felt Louis’ grip slip away.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Louis snapped, trying to push himself up from the forest floor and gasping for breath. “Just go!”

Niall opened his mouth to reply, but a low growl cut him off. Louis and Niall both froze. Less than a few yards to their left was a large brown wolf. Its hackles were raised, its body tense with imminent movement. It was staring at them, and Louis knew with certainty that they were about to die.

“Shh,” someone said lowly. It was only the instinct to stay still in the face of the wolf that kept Louis from jumping in surprise. Very, very slowly, he turned to see a figure walking from the direction of the shack, past Louis and Niall, and toward the wolf. The figure had a small torch in hand, and from its light, Louis saw that the man holding it was shockingly, ethereally beautiful. The long, heavy cloak that he wore shrouded his body, but his face was so perfect that Louis found himself questioning whether it was real.

The man before them came to a stand in front of the wolf, blocking its path to Louis and Niall. He leaned down and, impossibly, reached a hand out to run long fingers through bristling fur. Equally impossible was the wolf’s reaction, a long, low whine.

“Go back to the shack,” the man said, not turning from the wolf.

“This can’t be real,” Niall said. Louis glanced at him to see that his face was white with terror.

“It isn’t,” the man agreed. “You’re dreaming.”

Louis stood from the ground, looking from Niall to the scene before them and back again.

“Let’s go,” Niall said finally. When Louis last glanced back, the man was still crouched before the wolf, which simply lay down and accepted the gentle touches that he gave it.

 

* * *

 

Liam entered the shack not long after sunrise, and Louis immediately stood to interrogate him.

“What the _hell_ happened last night?” he insisted. He had had all evening to obsess, and he wouldn’t allow Liam to get out of explaining himself.

Liam looked bemused. “How would I know?”

“You told us not to leave!” Louis said. Niall stood from where he had been fitfully sleeping, glancing between them warily. “You told us to lock the door. You knew there was a wolf, and–”

“It’s a forest,” Liam said, frowning. “There are all sorts of things out there. Why would you–”

“This was _not_ a normal wolf!” Louis yelled. “There was a man, and he saved us from it. It behaved like a dog for him, and–”

Bizarrely, Liam looked a bit embarrassed at this. “I’m sure it didn’t act like a _dog_.”

“It’s true,” Niall said. “Completely domesticated. But the man insisted that we were dreaming, that it wasn’t real.”

Liam turned around and walked away from them, crossing the short distance to the stable. Louis and Niall followed him and watched as he busied himself with preparing the horse to leave.

“We don’t have time for your dreams,” he said roughly. “We need to leave.”

“It was not a dream,” Louis said flatly. He had calmed down enough to recognize evasion in Liam’s voice. “Explain where you were last night.”

Liam ignored Louis’ words. He kept his back to Louis and Niall, taking more time to brush off the saddle than was strictly necessary.

Louis exchanged an incredulous look with Niall. Liam was clearly deranged, and the sooner they left him behind, the better.

“Fine,” Louis said, throwing his arms in the air. He took Niall by the elbow and began steering him back toward the cabin, where they could gather what was left of the food before parting ways with–

“Wait!” Liam called. When Louis glanced back at him, he had turned, fidgeting at a buckle with both hands, but staring at Louis and Niall with something strangely like longing. “I– Tell me more? About this man you saw?”

Niall turned immediately, walking out of Louis’ reach to return to Liam. “What do you want to know?”

Liam shrugged, looking down at the buckle in his hands, and Louis couldn’t believe this was the same man who had held a blade to someone’s throat not a day earlier. Liam had the strangest air about him, of both man and boy—he was a more than competent horse rider, had managed to save Louis and Niall with little more than a pocket knife, could put on a brusque attitude easily enough, but at the same time, looked so vulnerable and melancholy in this moment, as if he were utterly helpless and flailing for rescue.

“What did he look like?” Liam finally asked.

“Honestly,” Niall said, eager to share the story, “He looked like the most beautiful person in the world. Surely a lord of some sort. He had dark, divine skin, and the deepest eyes, that looked as if they could pierce your very soul, and–”

“Why do you want to know this?” Louis asked. He had turned around, his arms crossed. He was partly annoyed that Liam was being so opaque, and partly irked that Niall would fawn in such a way over some stranger in the moonlight. So what if the man had looked like an angel just descended from the brightest star? It was easy enough to do, Louis thought testily, when one was in the process of swanning around to save people from imminent death.

Liam looked up, dropping his hands to his sides self-consciously. He glanced from Louis to Niall and back again.

Finally, he said, “This man might wander into my dreams, too, some night. Wouldn’t it be nice, if I could pretend we’d met before?”

Louis opened his mouth, intent on saying something biting about the ongoing insistence that it had been a dream, but before he could, Liam continued speaking, now directing his address to the ground below him. His voice was lowered to such a pitch that Louis nearly missed his words.

“I’ve waited a long time, for such a lord.”

Niall gave Louis a perplexed look. Louis was annoyed with himself for giving more than a second’s thought to what this stranger had to say about some other stranger. But before he could muster a reply, something let out a piercing, animal shriek directly over their heads. Louis and Niall both flailed, ducking down and covering their heads, but when Louis glanced up a moment later, it was to the sight of a red-tailed hawk landing adeptly on Liam’s now outstretched arm. Liam calmly stroked its feathers, and Louis straightened, glaring.

“What the hell is _that_?” he snapped. Absently, he noticed that the hawk had a strap of leather wrapped around one of its talons. “You couldn’t have warned us you had a pet bird? What if it had tried to land on one of us? That thing could have sliced my arm off!”

Unconcerned with Louis’ outburst, the hawk began nudging Liam’s hand with its head.

Liam furrowed his brow. “He’s not a pet.”

“Then why did it just land on your arm like that?” Niall countered.

“If that thing eats any of the rations–” Louis started, getting ready to work himself into a rant.

“Enough!” Liam said. The hawk ruffled its feathers, probably annoyed that Liam hadn’t already given it all of the meat Louis was planning to eat for breakfast. “The hawk isn’t your concern. You won’t even notice him. You didn’t yesterday, did you?”

Louis forced himself to take a deep breath. This had gone on for long enough.

“Thank you for saving us from those guards yesterday,” he said, keeping his voice as level as possible. “Now it’s clearly time we parted ways before they track us down and kill us all. Niall–”

“I need you,” Liam said. “I need your help.”

“What for?” Niall asked, taking a step forward as if worried that he might miss Liam’s reply. His eyes were bright with eager curiosity, and part of Louis wanted to snap at Niall that the answer was _nothing good_ , that staying with Liam would be suicide, that asking that question was just further endangering them, because if Liam had hope that they might agree to do whatever he wanted and they then refused, he was probably more likely to attack them. But another part of Louis couldn’t help but marvel at how brightly Niall’s eyes shone when they took on this particular light.

Liam exhaled heavily. The hawk surely must have been weighing on his arm, but he didn’t waiver, and the bird stayed put. “I need you to guide me into the city.”

“ _No_ ,” Louis said immediately. “Are you insane? No.”

“Why?” Niall asked Liam, ignoring Louis’ words.

“Niall!” Louis yelled. Whatever romantic thoughts he had been having moments ago fled from his mind. He crossed the few feet separating him from Niall and had half a mind to seize him by the arm, as if doing so would prevent him from disappearing into thin air. Louis managed not to do so by a great effort. Instead, he stared intently at Niall, who refused to turn his gaze away from Liam’s.

“I must kill the Bishop of Aquila,” Liam said, his voice soft but clear.

Louis’ heart was suddenly pounding against his chest, every instinct screaming at him to run. No one, in their right mind or otherwise, would think to try and kill the Bishop. Attempting to perpetrate that crime would not lead to death, but to agonizing, unspeakable torture, stretched out until the punished man was so irrevocably broken that he wouldn’t remember his own name.

“We’re never going back to Aquila,” Louis said, his voice far more level than he would have anticipated. He supposed that the shock of Liam’s words had made something in him change.

“Louis,” Niall said, but Louis gave in to his instinct to crowd Niall, gently but firmly taking his elbow and steering him away from Liam.

In the moment that Louis turned away from Liam and toward Niall, he felt a blade press against the side of his neck. Niall moved to surge forward and get between them, but Louis gripped his arm harder, forcing him to stay in place.

“Please don’t make me do this,” Liam said, and Louis cursed his damnably sincere voice. He slowly glanced back at Liam to see that he was holding the sword steadily, despite its size. The hawk had swept away from them at some point, and was no longer visible. It occurred to Louis that Liam looked oddly bereft, now that he was alone again.

“You don’t understand why, but I must kill the Bishop,” Liam said. “You must take me into Aquila.”

“It would be better to die,” Louis said.

Liam looked into his eyes, gave a small nod of acknowledgement, and turned to Niall. “What do you say, Niall? Would it be better for Louis to die?”

Niall ripped his arm from Louis’ grasp. “Of course not. We’ll get you into Aquila.”

“We’re _not_ going back!” Louis insisted.

“You are, or I’ll kill you where you stand,” Liam said. He tilted the blade marginally, his brows furrowed with solemnity.

Louis let out a bark of laughter. “You would never.”

He took a step forward, pressing himself closer to the sword’s edge. Liam’s face didn’t shift, but his grip on the blade did, and he pulled back just enough to keep Louis from piercing his own skin. Louis looked into Liam’s eyes and saw them close with frustration.

“See, Niall?” Louis said, his voice loud in the still-waking forest. “He doesn’t even have that in him. And he thinks he could kill the Bishop of Aquila?”

Liam looked up sharply, though he dropped his sword to his side. “I’ve killed before and I will kill again. The Bishop must die. But no, I won’t kill you.”

Louis was again struck by how young Liam looked. He could have been a teenage boy in that moment, full of false bravado, but for the voice in Louis’ head that reminded him that Liam had proven himself to be perfectly capable of killing, if necessary.

“I know,” Niall said. Louis looked at him to see that Niall did indeed appear to be unsurprised at Liam’s abandonment of his leverage. “You’re a man of honor, Liam. That’s why I’m going to help you.”

“ _Honor_?” Louis said, incredulous. “Since when do we put any stock in that? How would you recognize it in a man you’ve known for a matter of _hours_ , Niall?”

Niall gave Louis a too-familiar stubborn look. “He saved our lives, which would have been easier if he had killed those guards and the Marquis, but he didn’t. Instead he wants to kill the man who locked us in a dungeon, who’s terrorized the entire city for as long as we’ve been alive. That’s good enough for me.”

“There’s something wrong with everything that surrounds him,” Louis insisted, without a care by this point for whether he was speaking of Liam as if he couldn’t hear. “That wolf and that man from last night—they’ve something to do with him, I know it, and we should have no part in it.”

“They do,” Liam admitted calmly. “But they’ll have nothing to do with you if you do as I say. It wasn’t so hard for you to avoid magical forces before we met, was it?”

Louis’ mind raced. He was feeling assailed on all sides, teamed up against by Niall and Liam, and it was an irksome feeling. More annoying was the fact that Louis couldn’t think of a viable alternative—as much as _run as far away from Aquila as possible_ sounded perfectly reasonable to Louis, he knew that Niall would be less amenable to such a plan. Besides which, what gold they had managed to steal on the way out of the city wouldn’t last long enough to have them settled somewhere new. More likely, they would waste the weeks that it took to reach the nearest trading center only to find themselves trying to pick the pockets of experienced merchants, who would be only too happy to chop their hands off for the trouble.

If they could somehow get back into Aquila, though, and managed not to get caught, they knew the city well enough that they could plunder it in their sleep. Louis wouldn’t need more than a few hours to get them enough gold, and once they had it, they would have their choice of any city– hell, any kingdom– they liked.

And come to think of it, though trying to reenter Aquila was undoubtedly suicide, doing so in the company of a man bent on getting himself tortured and beheaded for attempted assassination was perhaps the only real chance at a useful diversion. Louis avoided Liam’s eyes as he considered this line of thought, though he told himself that he didn’t care one way or another about the fate of some stranger. If the man was so desperate to die, then that was his business. Louis didn’t care about it at all.

“While you kill the Bishop,” Louis said finally, though it was difficult to say such absurd words with a straight face, “I expect that Niall and I will have the run of any treasure that we come across.”

Liam frowned. “The Bishop’s gold rightfully belongs to the citizens of Aquila.”

Louis threw his arms in the air. The sun was beating down on them at this point, and it felt as if they had wasted away hours fighting about this. “Unless you have a member of the nobility hidden up your sleeve, you aren’t going to get that gold redistributed to anyone. Besides which, I _am_ a citizen of Aquila. Will it make you feel better if I only take my portion?”

Liam crossed his arms, but a moment later, gave a grudging nod.

Niall grinned brightly between Louis and Liam.

“Fine!” Louis barked. “Pack up your horse and find your stupid bird. We’re leaving for Aquila.”

 

* * *

 

The night was pleasantly cool, and Zayn shrugged off his heavy outer cloak, leaving it at the base of a large tree before continuing to patrol the perimeter of the campsite. Liam had left him a very short and cryptic message that night, one that wouldn’t have made sense to the two men they were traveling with if they had inadvertently found it. From what Zayn could gather, Liam had convinced them to take him to Aquila and was certain that they could get him in.

 _Him_ was the operative word, because Liam had little interest in continuing their months-long argument about his plan. The debate was frustrating, yes, but much more infuriating to Zayn was his inability to force the issue. There was a time when Zayn would have confronted Liam and refused to back down until they had properly worked everything out, but that ability, like so many other things, had been stolen from him.

Now, he listened carefully for any sign of the wolf, but could only hear the usual murmurs of the forest at night.

“My Lord!”

Zayn jumped at the sudden noise, turning back to see the two men from the previous night. One, the speaker, was smiling, but the other looked wary. Zayn himself felt a bit thrown in the moment. Though he hadn’t had time to think of it the night before, being too busy trying to distract the wolf, it had been such a long time since he had interacted with other people as a human that he found he wasn’t entirely sure where to begin.

“I’m not a lord,” he said, and his voice croaked a bit with ill-use. He took a few steps forward, closer to where the men were standing over their sleeping kits and the ashes of a camp fire. They looked disheveled, as if they had only just heard Zayn’s steps and gotten up from sleep (or from something else, Zayn thought, and tried not to become distracted by either curiosity about what the men were to each other or aching jealousy for the ease with which they could have physical intimacy if they wished).

“Then what should I call you?” the speaker asked. He had artificially lighter hair than his companion and wore a warmer, more open expression. The other one’s sharp and striking features, alternately, were only accented by his disapproving demeanor.

“Zayn. What are your names?”

“I’m Niall,” the speaker said, nodding to the other man. “And that’s Louis.”

“And you travel with Liam Payne,” Zayn said, though he knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t help himself.

“How do you know him?” Louis asked immediately. He was staring at Zayn searchingly, as if he could discern the answers to all of his questions simply by looking long enough.

“That, I can’t say,” Zayn replied. Louis’ eyes narrowed further, but Zayn refused to break eye contact with him, bent on making it clear that he couldn’t be swayed.

It was only partly because Liam didn’t want them to know. Zayn himself was leery of telling two strangers everything about their circumstances, their vulnerabilities, the ways in which they could be manipulated or hurt. But more than anything else, Zayn wouldn’t know how to begin to tell this particular story. He had no desire to explain everything that had led up to it, all of the signs that he should have seen, all of the decisions that he could have made differently, all of the ways in which he and Liam now suffered for it. How would he explain that decades from now, he wouldn’t even know what Liam looked like anymore? That one night, he might wake up to find he didn’t remember the sound of Liam’s voice? That already, he had to bury his nose in Liam’s clothes to recall the details of his scent?

“If you can’t tell us that, then at least come join us,” Niall said. He sat, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his arms on them. Zayn closed the distance between them and lowered himself to a still-rolled blanket as well, watching warily as Louis followed suit.

“You’re from Aquila, too?” Zayn asked them, the implicit confession the best peace offering he could give.

Niall’s eyes lit up as he nodded. “Louis and I met when I was– six, was it? He practically ran the whole orphanage in those days, knew everything there was to know better than the adults did. He got me out of a scrape when some older kids were giving me trouble, and–”

Zayn glanced at Louis, whose expression had melted; there was no other word for it. He looked at Niall with unbearable fondness, biting back smiles but unable to hide the way his eyes went soft with Niall’s every adoring description.

“–then he got me into even _worse_ trouble when he convinced me to help him steal some sweets from the cook,” Niall continued, though he sounded delighted about it.

Zayn listened with interest, and found himself relieved beyond measure to be thinking about something besides the curse for the first time in such a long time. Niall prodded Louis to help him tell the stories of their childhood adventures, and before long, Louis was drawn in, giving elaborate descriptions of every scrape they had ever miraculously escaped. They talked for so long that Niall and Louis only fell asleep a few hours before dawn. Zayn still sat in the same position he had been in for most of the night, and for a long while, he stared at Niall and Louis’ now-peacefully sleeping bodies.

After a few more moments, he finally stood to leave.

 

* * *

 

The late afternoon was cold and unseasonably foggy. In fact, Liam had trouble seeing the path below his own feet, and called out a warning to Niall and Louis to watch their steps. The hawk flew out of sight overhead, and Liam only just refrained from glancing up to check on it one too many times. Louis was still looking at Liam with persistently suspicious eyes, and he had no desire to further exacerbate the problem.

“What do you plan?” Niall asked suddenly, his voice improbably carrying despite the thickness of the air around them. “Once we get you past the gates of Aquila, how will you…”

Liam glanced back at Niall, though he could only see a faint outline of his body. Niall sliced a hand across his own throat.

“You won’t have to worry about that,” Liam said. “All I ask is that you take me into the city.”

Louis snorted, clearly unimpressed by Liam’s attempt at assurance.

“And how exactly–”

The low whistle of something moving quickly through the air cut off his words. It was followed by the thunk of an arrow piercing wood.

“Down!” Liam yelled, and Niall and Louis obeyed moments later, dropping to the forest floor even as they lunged toward one another, arms outstretched to seize arms. Watson whinnied and reared with surprise, and Liam tried to grip the reins with one hand as he unsheathed his sword with another.

The full weight of a soldier barreled into Liam’s chest, sending him painfully crashing to the ground. His hold on Watson loosed, but the horse’s training as an army steed had kicked in, and rather than run, he began furiously bucking against the guards who now surrounded him. Liam wrestled against the guard pinning him to the ground, his sword at an unreachable angle, but he could barely see anything for the fog. He landed a punch that caused a sickly sounding crack, and the guard shouted with pain, rolling off of Liam and away from him.

Liam lurched to his feet, taking the handle of his sword in both hands and twisting around to meet the downward swing of another guard’s blade. Liam gritted his teeth with the effort of maintaining his hold, before the guard’s own grip failed him, and his sword swung harmlessly to the side. Liam launched forward and brought his hilt to the guard’s temple, causing him to groan and drop to his knees.

From somewhere in the fog came the sounds of Niall and Louis shouting, clearly embroiled in their own fights. Liam glanced to Watson, who now stood, chest heaving for breath, over a number of unconscious bodies. Liam himself was gasping, and he was about to run forward to find Niall and Louis when, over all of the sounds in which he was drowning, he heard the cry of a hawk.

Liam raised his gaze to see, through the heavy air surrounding him, the hawk’s silhouette diving toward him. From his left, yards away, came a sudden movement, and Liam watched in horror as, inexorably, the hawk flew between him and the arrow being shot at his heart.

“No!” he heard himself scream, but the world paid him no mind. The arrow pierced the hawk’s wing, he cried out in agony and fell to the ground, and Liam collapsed to his knees as if his own body was tied to that of the bird now lying crumpled before him.

Around him, sound and movement continued. Liam did not notice or care. He felt his heart pounding as if trying to rip itself from his chest, felt his breath catch and refuse to give, felt his gut turn to lead and anchor him to the ground, but none of it mattered. He clambered forward toward the hawk, who flapped one wing helplessly as he screamed, the sound terrible and inhuman.

“No,” Liam said, even as he gathered the hawk gently in his arms. “ _No_! You’re not him, you’re not– why would you _do_ that?”

The hawk did not listen, consumed by his own suffering.

 

* * *

 

Niall gasped for breath. The setting sun, cruel in its timing, broke through the forest air, bringing the sight before him into stark clarity.

Bodies lay everywhere, some pooled in blood, some heaving for air themselves. At least one dead. Niall turned to Louis. Louis, who moments ago had thrown a knife that embedded itself in the archer who had been on the verge of shooting a second arrow at Liam. Liam, who had been kneeling on the ground over the hawk, paying no attention to the threat.

“Louis,” Niall said. Louis was staring at where his knife was buried in the throat of the guard on the ground. His face was white, his shirt stained with the dirt of the forest floor, his hands– Louis’ gentle hands, that had protected Niall since before he cared to remember– shaking at his sides.

“I’m fine,” Louis said. “You know it’s old hat for me, Niall.”

It wasn’t, Niall thought, and he hated the way Louis’ voice sounded when he said that.

“Louis–” he started, but Louis was already walking toward him brusquely. Louis took Niall’s face in his hands, peering into his eyes closely, and began scanning his body for injuries.

“I’m fine, Louis,” Niall said, and a moment later, Louis nodded in satisfaction. To their right, Liam was no longer able to hold back a sob. It ripped through the air, commingling with the sound of the hawk’s screams.

Niall ran, Louis following close behind, and Niall crouched down before Liam as Louis stood over them, periodically glancing around at the– for now, Niall thought worriedly– injured and unconscious guards who had ambushed them.

Liam was crying, his face twisted with pain, tears running freely. He shushed the hawk without effect.

“Don’t move,” he said lowly, having wrapped the hawk in a scrap piece of fabric. The arrow lodged in one of its wings protruded terribly. “Why would you do it? If you were him you’d be listening to me, you’d’ve–” Liam’s words were cut off by his own moan.

“Liam,” Niall murmured. He exchanged a pained glance with Louis. “Liam, it’s not going to–”

Liam looked up quickly. He looked between Niall and Louis, then sharply glanced behind him, where Watson still stood. A moment later, Liam was carefully standing, the hawk still cradled in his arms. He tried unsuccessfully to soothe its renewed cries at his movement.

“Please,” Liam said. “You have to take him.”

Niall stood with Liam. Liam crowded close, gesturing for Niall’s response. After a moment, Niall held out his own arms and accepted the bundled hawk, adjusting his grip as it writhed against him.

Liam took Louis by the elbow as soon as his own arms were free. His gaze searched the area surrounding them, taking in everything. He stared at the dead archer.

“You saved my life,” Liam said. Niall watched as he turned away from the body to look between Niall and Louis.

“Liam, that hawk won’t survive,” Louis said, his voice soft. “We need to put it out of its misery.”

“ _No,_ ” Liam said. “You saved my life. You don’t owe me anything more. But I’m begging you, you have to take him to Harry.”

 _Who the hell is Harry?_ Niall thought. Liam seemed as if he had gone mad.

“Liam–”

“Please!” Liam said. His eyes were red for crying, his face still broken by emotion. “Please. Take my horse. A few miles to the north is a ruin, an old monastery. There’s a priest named Harry there. He can save him.”

Niall shook his head, but didn’t walk forward for fear of upsetting the bird even more. “Liam, listen to us. The hawk’s going to die.”

Liam turned to look at Niall, and Niall had never in his life seen pain of the sort in Liam’s eyes. He shook his head as fresh tears trailed down his cheeks.

“If he dies, I’ll die with him,” Liam said. His voice cracked on the word, “ _Please_.”

Niall looked at Louis, and then gave a short nod. Even if they hadn’t been exhausted and aching and terrified, Niall couldn’t imagine that they would have been capable of saying no to the desperation in Liam’s eyes. He began making his way to a wary-looking Watson as Louis took Liam by the shoulders.

“We’ll do it,” Louis said. “But you need to come with us. These guards are going to come back to themselves.”

“I can’t,” Liam said. “It’s almost sunset.” He was so irrational with grief and fear, Niall was unsurprised that his words made no sense. He shook his head and held the hawk in one arm as he used the other to haul himself over Watson’s back. The horse made a noise of protest, but must have sensed its master’s wishes, because it let Niall mount easily enough.

“Liam,” Louis insisted. “You–”

“Trust me,” Liam said, his own voice implacable with belief. “I don’t have anything to fear. You have to leave now.”

He was like a stone in his immovability, Niall thought. There was nothing to be done. Louis mounted the horse in front of Niall, and they rode north.

 

* * *

 

Louis steered Watson to a gallop and Niall gripped him hard around the waist with one arm as he secured the hawk against his chest with the other. The ride was uncomfortable and worrisome—as the sun continued setting, the forest around them slowly turned to open, grass-laden ground, which only made Niall more concerned about the potential for another attack from Aquila forces. Niall and Louis were both silent as they rode, and Niall would have been grateful for the additional quiet coming from the bird in his arms if it didn’t mean that he had to make a terrifying check every few minutes to make sure it was only unconscious and not dead.

The darkness around them only intensified as they rode, and if the sun finished setting before they arrived, Louis wouldn’t be able to steer the horse in the proper direction anymore. When that happened, they would be stuck either stopping for the night– which would unquestionably end in the hawk’s death– or wandering, blind, through the wilderness.

Far in the distance, something caught Niall’s eye. He leaned forward to make out a hopelessly faint light.

“Louis!”

“I see it,” Louis said through heavy breaths. Niall felt the movement of him digging his heels harder into Watson’s sides. The horse surged forward, and Niall could only pray that they would get to the ruin before it was too late.

Niall couldn’t have measured the time that passed if he wanted to; all he knew was that it was torture. Slowly, painfully, they made their way closer to the light. As it loomed in the distance, Niall tried desperately to make out its details, to determine whether this was in fact the old monastery Liam had described. He could tell nothing for certain, except that as they finally got close, it became apparent that the light Niall had seen was comprised of a number of small torches, all lit along the exterior of what might have once been a very small castle, but was now a broken shape of stone.

The ride became rougher as the material under Watson’s hooves turned from pliant grass to the well-worn dirt of a road. Niall held onto Louis tighter, gripped the hawk closer, and began yelling for help despite the hoarseness of his voice as they approached a wooden gate.

Louis brought Watson to heel when they were directly under the gate and joined Niall with shouts of his own. Not a moment after Niall was on the verge of despair, the sound of chains groaning against one another cut through their yelling, and the gate began to swing forward.

Louis scrambled to tug the reins and steer Watson backward to make room. As soon as Watson came to a stop, Niall began to dismount. Though he tried as best he could not to jolt the hawk overmuch, he could feel its body get heavier as the pain of movement caused it to lose consciousness once more.

A tall, handsome young man in worn robes walked out to greet them.

“What is it?” he asked, glancing between them warily, his eyes bloodshot. “Who are you?”

“We need someone named Harry. Liam Payne sent us,” Niall said, half-walking, half-stumbling with numb exhaustion. “This hawk is injured, and–”

The man’s face got, improbably, even paler. “What? Give him to me!”

Niall was more than happy to place the bird in the man’s arms. As soon as he had hold of it, the priest turned and ran into the ruin. Niall turned back to Louis, who had dismounted the horse and was still catching his breath. Louis helplessly shook his head, raising an arm in confusion.

 

* * *

 

“Shh, shh, shh,” the priest murmured as he laid the hawk onto a bed. They were in someone’s chambers, the final destination after a long run through dimly lit hallways.

Niall watched as the priest began pouring over vials on a mounted shelf. He supposed that this man had to be the Harry they were sent for, since they had yet to see any other person in the ruin.

“I need something for the pain,” he muttered. He continued talking to himself, in an unintelligible stream of consciousness from which Niall only caught the occasional word. Niall and Louis stood just inside the chambers’ open door, looking on, uncertain what to do.

“You have to stay with him,” Harry suddenly said, whirling around to look at Niall and Louis. “I’m going to my garden. In the next few minutes, the sun is going to finish setting.”

“What does that have to do with–” Louis started impatiently, but Harry cut him off.

“Just stay with him!” His eyes were wild, and he looked like a fellow prisoner from Aquila in that moment, one of the ones who had lost themselves to the torment of it. “Just– you’re not going to understand what happens, but stay with him and take care of him.”

“This is complete madness,” Louis said, and Harry gave a nod of acknowledgement before he ducked between Niall and Louis to leave the room.

Niall exchanged a look with Louis, then walked forward to examine the hawk. It looked nearly dead, laid down in an unnatural position, one wing extended and the arrow still protruding from it. Its eyes were open, and their color was yellow in one moment, but… oddly familiar in the next.

“What the hell?” Niall breathed. As he stared down at it, something began happening to the hawk. At first, he was sure that it must be finally dying, taking its last breaths and stiffening into a corpse. But the change that was coming over the bird was something different, he realized, something stranger.

Louis took two long strides forward and seized Niall by the wrist, pulling him back as they watched the hawk’s body slowly lengthen, its feathers grow smooth, its coloring change. Niall’s breath caught in his lungs as he looked on, taking in the sight of the hawk, impossibly, transforming.

“This is…” Louis didn’t seem to know how to finish his sentence, and Niall found that he himself had no words in response to the vision before him.

Niall didn’t know how much time passed, but it felt to him as if in mere seconds, a man was lying before them. Not just a man, he realized a moment later—the one from the woods. He blinked rapidly, looking up between Niall and Louis with a disoriented expression. An arrow was lodged in his arm, a terrifying amount of blood coated all over his injury and bare torso.

“You!” Louis burst out. “What–”

In that moment, Harry ran back into the room, myriad herbs in his arms. “Give me room!”

Niall took another step back, away from the bed where Harry began busily tending to… Zayn, Niall supposed. Because it had become clear that the man lying on the bed was in fact Zayn, and that he had been the hawk only minutes before.

“ _Harry_?” Zayn croaked. “What–”

“Just lie still,” Harry ordered, and then pressed a vial to Zayn’s lips. “Drink this.”

Zayn looked into Harry’s eyes uncertainly for only a moment, then obeyed.

“Where is Liam? Is he all right?” Zayn demanded after swallowing the liquid and grimacing at the taste.

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Louis countered, his voice high with near-hysteria. He was still gripping Niall by the wrist.

“Liam is fine,” Harry said soothingly, ignoring Louis. Niall stared at him, uncomfortable with the ease with which he had, for all he knew, lied. “You’re going to lose consciousness, but when you wake up, everything will be fine.”

“Harry, I…” Zayn looked warily from Harry to Niall and Louis, and back again. His eyes were already closing again, his breath evening out. As soon as he was fully unconscious, Harry gripped the arrow and broke it in half, slowly removing it from Zayn’s arm. Niall looked away as Harry pressed fresh bandages hard against the gaping wound. Zayn’s face was bloodless, his body mercifully still as Harry arranged its heavy limbs in order to clean and bind Zayn’s arm.

Long minutes passed in silence, Niall and Louis looking on as Harry tended to Zayn. He worked efficiently, his hands quick and well-practiced over Zayn’s body. Finally, Harry turned to face Niall and Louis. His face was lined with exhaustion, pale and worried.

“Come on,” he said lowly. “We should let him rest.”

 

* * *

 

The fire burned higher than Niall felt comfortable with, but he reminded himself that they were relatively safe behind the high walls of the monastery, ruined though they may be. He sat next to Louis, across from where Harry had dropped heavily to a sitting position. Harry drank deeply and directly from a bottle, as Niall and Louis shared the flask of water that he had given them.

“The wolf,” Louis said finally, breaking the silence that had descended. “It’s Liam, isn’t it?”

Harry looked up, then gave a short nod.

“ _How_?” Niall demanded.

Harry sighed heavily. “I really– it’s not my–”

“Harry,” Niall said. “Please. We’re completely in the dark here. We could’ve died getting the– getting Zayn to you.”

Harry ran a hand over his face. “All right. I don’t know how you got involved in this, but you might as well know what it is.”

Louis gave an annoyed grunt of agreement.

“His name is Zayn Malik. Nobility of Aquila.” _I knew it_ , Niall thought triumphantly. Harry’s voice was low but pleasant, and he took to his words more easily as they came. “You’ve seen his beauty in his human form—by the time he came of age, nearly everyone he met lusted after him. Including the Bishop. He tried to court Zayn, but Zayn had long opposed the Bishop and his attempts to seize more power over the city. Besides which, Zayn had fallen in love with the captain of the guard.”

“A lord and a captain couldn’t court each other,” Louis insisted. “It’s forbidden for nobility to marry from a lower rank.”

“They did it secretly,” Harry said. His eyes were distant, his hands still where they clasped over the fire. “I was the only other one who knew. They confided in me because they hoped that I would be the one to marry them, when the time came. But the Bishop found out of their betrothal before they could elope, and in his rage, he…”

Harry fell into silence for a few long seconds. He stared into the fire, and the sound of its crackling was the only thing to break the stifling quiet that now surrounded them. Louis’ chest rose with impatience, a sure sign that he was about to snap at Harry to get on with it, but Niall nudged him into a reluctant silence.

Finally, Harry started out of his reverie, looking up at Louis and then Niall.

“He called on evil magic to place a curse on them, one that would forever keep them apart,” Harry said. “By day, Zayn is the hawk that you brought to me. There’s a strap of leather that you might have noticed—it can’t be removed from his wrist, and it marks his talon when he’s a bird.” Harry’s face twisted with disgust. “It’s the Bishop’s way of claiming _ownership_ —everyone knows not to hunt the hawk that’s marked with his ‘collar.’ By night, as you’ve already guessed, Liam runs as a wolf. They lose themselves to the beasts, unable to communicate with or comprehend each other. For a split second at sunrise and sunset, they can almost touch, can nearly speak. But it’s only an added torture.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes red. “You’ve… stumbled onto a tragic story. And now, you’re lost in it with the rest of us.”

Niall felt his breath catch in his chest as Harry spoke, his skin going cold with horror. Harry’s words made his memories of the wolf and the hawk worse, as he now saw the beasts through the eyes of their victims and prisoners.

“But they can control each other as animals,” Louis countered, his voice unsteady but insistent. “We’ve seen it. If they truly become beasts, how do they know to obey the other’s human form?”

“And Liam was asking the hawk why he did it,” Niall said, the memory coming to him unexpectedly. “When it was injured. As if the hawk had done something human when it got shot.”

Harry shook his head, his face melting into perplexity. His voice was slow with uncertainty, but became more compelled as he spoke. “I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible that with time, they’ve become more capable of influencing the thoughts and actions of the animals. I should–”

“What happened to you?” Louis asked. Harry had been in the process of moving to stand, facing the entrance to the monastery, but at Louis’ words, he froze. “After the curse.”

After a long moment, Harry sighed, sinking back down to his seat. “I was excommunicated. The Bishop would have had me executed, but Liam and I managed to escape the city with the hawk.”

“Why don’t you travel with them?” Niall asked.

Harry’s face flushed with shame, and he didn’t seem capable of meeting their eyes as he spoke. Instead, he looked down at the stone below their feet, speaking slowly.

“It… it was my fault that they were caught,” he murmured, his confession only audible because of the otherwise silent night. “If I had only helped them escape the city earlier, conducted their elopement before the Bishop could catch wind of it, none of this would have happened. I couldn’t burden them with my presence when they already suffer for my folly.”

To Niall’s surprise, Louis spoke before he himself could think of a reply.

“Don’t be daft,” Louis said sharply. Harry was surprised into looking up, his mouth hanging open the slightest bit. “How could you have known what would happen?”

Harry frowned. “I should have known. I had worked under the Bishop for years, I should have seen his obsession and realized that he–”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Niall added. He didn’t know why he and Louis felt compelled to argue this point, but it felt important, suddenly, that the beautiful, grieved man before them not blame himself.

Harry shook his head, avoiding eye contact with either one of them now.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice now rough with conviction. “What matters is that I have to be the one to fix it.”

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

 

* * *

 

When Louis woke, it was to the sound of shouting across the hallway. Harry had given them a room nearby his own chamber, the one in which Zayn had been resting, but it was clear that Zayn was now very much awake.

“Tell me where he is!” Zayn yelled, his voice echoing off of the stone walls.

“I don’t know!” Harry snapped in reply, his voice straining. “Lie _still_!”

Louis rolled off of the cot, saw that Niall was gone from their chamber, and made his way toward the light of the opposite room. When he walked in, he was greeted by the sight of Harry attempting to pin Zayn to the bed. Nearby, Niall looked on, sparing Louis only a brief glance and helpless shrug.

“You’re only going to make your injury worse,” Harry said, but Zayn persisted in struggling against him.

“You said he was fine, Harry,” Zayn said, his voice low and harsh with pain. Harry grunted when he took a knee to his stomach. “You lied to me!”

“No, I didn’t,” Harry insisted. He was panting with effort, and finally pulled away in surrender from where he had been hovering over Zayn. “He’s a _wolf_. He’ll be in far more danger going on some insane quest to kill the Bishop than he will be wandering the woods tonight.”

Louis winced and exchanged a guilty look with Niall. When Harry had told them of his own intention to find a way to break the curse, they had told him of Liam’s plan to sneak into Aquila and kill the Bishop. Harry had… not been pleased.

When Harry gave him the room, Zayn immediately sat up and turned to sit over the edge of the bed. “You don’t think I’ve been trying to talk him out of it? He won’t listen to me!”

“He _can’t_ listen to you,” Harry said. “Not your voice, at least. It’s hardly a surprise he’s less easily persuaded.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Zayn asked, terse with frustration. He was gripping his arm unconsciously, and though the bandage was probably in need of changing, Louis had no interest in being the one to point that out to Zayn.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but could not seem to summon the words. After a moment, his jaw closed, his eyes lowering in chagrin.

“I’m going to go look over my books,” he muttered finally, and left them in a dejected silence.

 

* * *

 

By the time Liam got to the monastery, it was nearly sunset again. Traveling by foot had been frustratingly slow, but Liam was driven by the necessity of seeing Zayn, of knowing that he was alive. Liam couldn’t allow himself to think otherwise, though a part of him dreaded arriving at the ruins, knowing that doing so might mean arriving to a corpse.

 _He lives_ , Liam insisted to himself, and began running when he caught sight of the monastery in the distance. _He lives, he lives, he lives_.

He was drenched in sweat, the sun beating down on him as he finally arrived to the gates, but he paid no attention to anything but the imperative to pound a fist on the wood until it gave way.

A long minute passed before someone answered his knock. The gate slowly opened to reveal Harry.

“He’s alive,” Harry said at once, as if reading Liam’s mind. His ability to do that had always discomfited Liam, and in that moment, it was as if Liam were an embarrassed young captain once more, confessing his love for a lord who was high above him in every way. “Liam, he’ll recover. He’s alive.”

Liam felt himself breathe once more, and he stepped forward to sweep Harry into a hug. He didn’t remember the last time he had hugged anyone, and despite the way his armor pressed uncomfortably between their bodies, he found himself relieved beyond measure to have Harry in his arms for the first time in such a long time. Harry held him close, murmuring soothing words as if Liam were a child who had just woken from a nightmare.

When Harry led him to the hawk, Liam was surprised to see Niall and Louis sleeping in a bed next to its perch. But he had little time to think of their presence before he was crowding the hawk, gently unfurling his wing to assess its damage, smoothing his feathers as he patiently allowed Liam’s touches.

“You saved him,” Liam said, without looking up from the hawk.

“Niall and Louis did, too,” Harry said. He stood in the doorway, his voice soft. When Liam turned to face him once more, Harry was beaming. He looked years younger like this—he looked as he had looked when Liam first met him, a boyish priest with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Liam,” he said. Now that Liam was no longer distracted by his worry for Zayn, he noticed how Harry’s voice was nearly bursting with happiness. He looked nearly manic with it. “We need to talk.”

“All right,” Liam said, trying to keep the wariness from his voice. He stepped back from the hawk reluctantly, glanced once more at where Niall and Louis were curled together on the nearby bed. Liam didn’t know why Harry’s unexpected mood was worrying him, but it made his body tense with concern. He followed as Harry led him out of the room and down the stone stairs. They stepped into a sprawling library, coated with books and manuscripts, all written in a dozen different hands. This was an inheritance from the monastery that the ruin used to be, Liam supposed, a relic of the scholarship that once took place here.

“I’ve been reading,” Harry said, turning to face Liam with a bright smile still gracing his face. “For months and months, but after last night, a miracle happened. I was so desperate, Liam, so desperate to find something that could break the curse, and when I came here to review everything I had already pored over for so long, I finally found it.”

“Harry…” Liam started. He glanced around them, at the way all of the parchment and tomes were haphazardly strewn in every direction. It looked as if a storm had torn through the room.

“An eclipse!” Harry said, his eyes bright with excitement. “There’s a cosmic event coming in three days that will allow us to break the curse!”

Liam bit back a sigh. He took Harry’s arm gently, tugging him away from a table on which he had stacked precarious mountains of paper.

“When did you last sleep?” Liam asked.

Harry gave him a confused look. His eyes were bloodshot. “What? Liam, did you hear me? I’ve found a cure.”

“You spent all night saving Zayn,” Liam said. “And all day–” _indulging in madness_ , he thought. “You need to rest, Harry.”

Harry sighed, relenting as Liam pulled him out of the library. “Fine. But this is not over.”

Liam worried that he might be right.

 

* * *

 

“You have to help me,” Harry said, and Louis had only just taken the first bite of his breakfast, so he thought he could be forgiven for groaning in response.

“He won’t believe me!” Harry continued, ignorant of (or, more likely, choosing to ignore) Louis’ frustration. “I tried telling him that he _can’t_ kill the Bishop, that that will only make the curse permanent, but he refuses to listen!”

Niall swallowed his own bite, then pointed out, “Zayn did say that Liam wouldn’t even listen to him. And you have to admit, Harry, this ‘cosmic’ thing sounds a bit…”

“Insane,” Louis supplied.

“It’s real!” Harry barked, making Louis jump in his seat despite himself. “You have to help me convince him.”

Louis rubbed at his temples. Ever since last night, he felt as if he had fallen into some nightmare from which he couldn’t awaken. Harry’s explanation about the curse had been something from a child’s story, yet Louis had seen for himself that it was true. Though part of him still wanted nothing more than to take Niall and run as far away from these people as they could get, a growing part of him couldn’t help but dread the notion that Liam might inadvertently seal his own terrible fate. Somehow he had grown to care about what happened to two men he had known for a matter of days, and much as he hated it, he found himself compelled to obey Harry’s command.

Liam himself walked into the kitchen where they sat before any more could be said. He dropped next to Louis, oblivious to the conversation he had interrupted.

“I told you both that you’re free to go,” Liam said. “I’m in your debt for saving the– Zayn.” He had yet to completely accept that Louis and Niall now knew about the curse.

“We’re still going to take you into Aquila,” Niall said. “And Harry is coming, too.”  
  
Liam glanced at Harry, his eyes suddenly shrouding the smallest bit with uncertainty.

“All right,” Liam finally said, after a short pause. He stood to leave, stopping short at the door to look back at them.

“I _am_ in your debt,” he said. His voice was firm, his eyes steady. “But that doesn’t mean that you can convince me to change the plan. Understand that I will kill the Bishop. We leave in an hour.”

Liam then abandoned them to a stifling silence.

 

* * *

 

“There’s just no stopping him, is there?” Zayn asked, his voice low and resigned. He sat across a small fire from Niall, Louis and Harry on either side of him, and early as it was in the evening, Niall was already fatigued, exhausted by the day’s unsuccessful efforts to engage Liam in virtually any sort of conversation at all. Liam was wary of them, knew what they were trying to do, and Niall was sure he was far from the first to curse the man’s stubbornness.

At Zayn’s words, Niall exchanged a look with Louis and then with Harry. They had explained the day’s events to Zayn, but had not yet decided among themselves if now was the time to present an alternative to Liam’s plan.

“Well,” Niall said after a moment. Zayn looked up at his tone.

“What?” he demanded.

“We have an idea,” Niall said, more confidently. Though Liam wasn’t ready to hear this, now was the time to tell Zayn about the plan if he was going to agree to help them convince Liam.

“All of the research I’ve been doing has led to one conclusion,” Harry said. His voice was low and quick with excitement, and he leaned forward as he spoke. “There is a way to break the curse, but it can’t happen if the Bishop is dead.”

Zayn frowned a little and mirrored Harry, leaning forward toward the fire.

“In two days’ time, there will be a cosmic phenomenon that hasn’t happened in years,” Harry said. “The sun and the moon will be in the sky at the same time—at the same moment, the moon will eclipse the sun. You and Liam will both be human. It will be both night _and_ day.”

Zayn’s expression didn’t seem to change. His brows were furrowed with concentration, and not a hint of hope gleamed in his eyes. Louis huffed at the lack of reaction as Harry continued.

“If the Bishop sees you both, together, human, the curse will be broken!” he concluded, unable to prevent himself from nearly shouting his final revelation with glee. “We have to convince Liam not to kill the Bishop, so that when we arrive in Aquila, you two can confront him at the moment of the eclipse and–”

Zayn leaned away, shaking his head, his face clouded with disapproval.

“That’s almost as dangerous as Liam’s plan,” he protested. “And who’s to say that even if Liam could be convinced to give up his plan, even if we did get into Aquila alive, even if we did surprise the Bishop and his guards enough to confront him before we were executed on the spot, that this ‘eclipse’ would happen? Have you ever spoken with someone who’s seen this event, Harry?”

Niall glanced at Harry and Louis again. Harry’s face had fallen, and Louis had a stubborn expression that Niall knew all too well.

“Listen here,” Louis said. “This is the only chance that we’ll get to do this properly. So it’s what we’re doing, and that’s that. We’re going to explain to Liam that this is what you want too, and after we sneak you both into Aquila, we’ll–”

Suddenly Zayn was standing over them, his hands raking through his hair and his eyes burning with anger.

“Do I _ever_ get a say in _anything_?” he exploded. His shout was much louder than any of their previous conversation, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf gave a faint, mournful howl. Zayn’s face twisted with pain, but before more than a second of silence had passed, before Niall had a chance to try and calm him down, he continued raging at them.

“I do _not_ want to do this, any more than I want Liam to go on a suicide mission to assassinate the most powerful bishop in this kingdom! _Why_ are you letting him go to Aquila? Because you’re all foolish enough to think that you’ll actually convince him to change his plan?”

Niall stood, but Harry and Louis stayed seated. He was grateful for that; Zayn shouldn’t be made to feel any more crowded or outnumbered than he already did.

“Zayn,” he said, keeping his voice as soft and calm as if he were handling the hawk, not the man. Zayn’s eyes narrowed, as if he could read Niall’s thoughts. “You’re right. Liam has been obsessing over killing the Bishop for longer than he’s even known Louis and me. As it stands now, we’ll never convince him not to try and do it. That’s why we need you. He’ll listen to you, even if it’s only through our voices. He’ll be able to tell that the words are yours. We’re trying to save Liam’s life.”

Zayn shook his head, but even as he did so, Niall could see him deflating the smallest bit, the anger seeping out of his body as Niall spoke.

“I’ve spent months trying to convince him not to kill the Bishop,” Zayn said. “He won’t listen to me any more than you.”

“He’ll listen to us _together_ ,” Harry insisted, sitting up straighter, clearly bursting with the instinct to force Zayn to look into his eyes. “If all four of us agree, he can’t say no. He’ll have to go along with the new plan.”

Zayn lowered himself back to the log on which he sat, resting his elbows against his knees, leaning forward and facing the ground in thought. Niall sat back down as Zayn did, exchanging glances with Louis and Harry as he did so, trying to convey questions and answers about how to proceed, how not to lose the precarious advantage they seemed to have gained.

“This plan will work, Zayn,” Louis said, his voice absent of the impatient edge with which he had spoken earlier. “You and Liam have been at this alone, but you don’t have to be anymore. You have us now. Trust us.”

Zayn finally looked up, into Louis’ eyes first, then Harry’s and Niall’s.

“You’d bring the hawk with you,” he said, keeping the question out of his voice but not his eyes. In explanation, he added, “If Liam had his way, I’d be… tied to a tree somewhere so that he could be as reckless as he liked without ‘concern for my safety.’” His voice was bitter with the long arguments behind the statement, arguments made all the more infuriating, Niall imagined, by the fact that they had been conducted via writing over the course of days and days, drawn out long beyond what they should have been.

“Of course,” Harry said immediately. “He’d _have_ to allow you to come with, because you both must be there to confront the Bishop.”

Zayn nodded once, and Niall glanced down to see that his hands were gripping each other tightly. He took a deep breath.

“Then… yes,” he said, and Niall’s heart lifted with hope.

 

* * *

 

Liam lifted his arm expectantly, and the hawk did not come. Instead, he flew impossibly high over their heads, never sparing even a glance down below.

Liam sighed.

“‘Stop pouting,’” Louis said, and Liam turned to see that he, Niall, and Harry were all walking just behind him, giving him knowing looks.

“I don’t take orders from–”

“That was from Zayn,” Louis said. Liam glared. “He said that you would be pouting and that first, we should tell you to stop.”

Liam stared into Louis’ unimpressed expression for a moment, and then glanced back up at the hawk. “ _You_ did this?”

“No, we didn’t,” Harry said. “He isn’t himself as the hawk, of course, but he’s close enough that he can convey certain ideas.”

“Like being angry,” Niall added. “He said to tell you that he’s angry at you for trying to go through with your disastrous plan, when we have the option of one that will actually work.”

Liam turned back to face the road, tightening his grip on Watson’s reigns. “There is no _we_ ,” he said. “And you can’t truly think that you’ll convince me with a made-up story about what Zayn wants.”

A rolled piece of parchment was suddenly being waved in Liam’s face, and he leaned backward to avoid it smacking him on the nose, before turning to glare at Harry.

“Read it,” Harry insisted. “He said that it would convince you that he agrees with our plan.”

Liam, his blood already boiling under the hot sun, snatched the parchment out of Harry’s hand and impatiently unfurled it. He slowed his walking pace as he read, until finally, he came to a stop. He stood unmoving, ignoring Watson’s whinny of disapproval, and reread the message.

Far over his head, the hawk circled. Liam ran his fingers over the ink, savoring, as he always did, the shape of Zayn’s handwriting. It had come over these long months to replace Liam’s ability to hear Zayn’s beautiful voice, and it was thus simultaneously a great comfort and torture.

“So,” Liam said finally, not looking up from the scroll in his hands. “You managed to convince him, and now you’d use him to make me relent.”

“Not everything is a battle, Liam,” Niall said quietly. It made Liam look up and turn to face him. “We want the same thing that you do. To break the curse, to set you both free.”

Liam didn’t know if he had ever felt so weary in his life. He wanted nothing more than to rest, but there would never be true rest until the curse was broken or his life was over. It was hard, even in this moment, to breathe properly, no matter how much he tried. Liam wasn’t sure that he had breathed as he should since he first felt his body morphing into something inhuman.

“And,” he said, his voice cracking with dryness, with something else that he didn’t want to name. “You truly believe that your plan will break the curse.”

Harry took several steps forward, until he stood directly before Liam.

“We will break the curse,” Harry said, unblinking as he stared into Liam’s eyes. “I swear it on my life.”

Liam took a deep breath. He rolled the parchment in his hands, tucking it carefully into Watson’s saddle bag.

“Then we will break it your way,” he said. “With one condition.”

 

* * *

 

It was a stupid argument, Louis thought, and that was why he should have known it would come about. Because he and Niall had managed to stumble upon the most perfectly-matched stubborn asses in history.

He found himself thinking of the conflict, obsessing over how impossible Liam was, and generally bemoaning the fact that he had allowed himself to become entangled in this entire mess, all as he tightly gripped the bottom of the cart, which jostled and bumped as it made its way through the gates of Aquila. The ground rolled just below Louis’ back, and if he let up an inch, he knew that his shirt might drag against the rough road.

 _You hide below the cart, Louis_ , he thought, attributing an unflattering tone to his imagined imitation of Liam’s instructions. _Because Niall is so much better at retracing his way back into an impossible-to-penetrate fortress than you are_.

In actuality, only one of them could take the job of swimming back through the city sewers to open the church gates from the inside, and it had been decided that Niall would be that person because his insistence on coloring his hair meant that he would be less immediately recognizable than Louis as one of the most wanted men in the region if he were caught. Louis, of course, had protested that everyone in Aquila knew that Niall’s artificial locks were his signature before they had been arrested, and Niall had protested that he had demonstrably more talent for accents than Louis in any case, and would be certainly better at passing himself off as someone else, and Louis had suggested that perhaps he would take a leaf from Liam’s book and take the choice entirely out of Niall’s hands, and then Liam had yelled that they were both being stupid and the jobs had been assigned and that was the end of it.

“And,” Harry had added, “Zayn can’t be the one to hide below the cart because he’ll be–”

“Dealing with Liam,” Louis had finished, annoyed. And indeed, from the cart’s body directly above Louis, he could hear the sounds of Zayn cajoling the wolf as it growled complaints.

The reason that only Niall was allowed to reenter Aquila via the sewers was because of Liam’s damn ridiculous condition, and it was for this reason that Louis spent the entire trip bemoaning to himself the fact that he had ever allowed Niall to get them involved with former Captain Liam Payne.

The cart came to a sudden halt, and Louis gripped the pole at the bottom of the cart from which he was holding himself as tight as possible, praying that he wasn’t on the verge of stumbling to the ground, because if he relented, he wasn’t sure that he would be able to pull himself back up again.

A gruff voice asked Harry what his business was in Aquila, and Harry cheerfully replied that he had a live wolf to gift to the Bishop.

One of the guards continued to speak with Harry, while the other walked to the side of the cart and, Louis imagined, drew aside its cloth to inspect the contents. Louis stared at the guard’s boots, which were entirely too close to his face for comfort, and didn’t dare to breathe as he heard Harry continue to answer the questions shot at him.

“And why’s it still alive?” the guard closest to Louis asked. Louis pictured Zayn, just above him, holding his breath just like Louis was and lying flat in the darkest shadows of the cart. Zayn seemed to be doing a better job than Liam in any case, because though the guard did not give any indication that he saw a man sharing space with the vicious live wolf before him, his tone was undeniably suspicious, likely thanks to the way that the wolf snapped at the space between the bars of its makeshift cage’s small window.

Harry’s voice suddenly lost all of its affected casualness, and Louis felt his heart ratchet, because he had no idea why.

“The Bishop insists on killing the wolves personally!” he nearly shouted, the panic clear in his tone. “Surely you fools know that! Unless you’d like him to slaughter you in place of the beast?”

A long, tense silence followed. Louis’ mouth was dry, his lungs ached for air, but he could not have breathed even if he willed himself to.

“Drive on,” one of the guards said finally, and his boots turned and disappeared out of Louis’ line of sight. The cart jolted into movement once more, and Louis breathed.

As they crossed into the city proper, he heard Zayn murmuring soothing words to the wolf above. Zayn’s words were not only soft out of necessity, though; Louis heard in them the weariness that he had come to associate with Zayn and Liam being close to their transformations. They only had a short time before they needed to be somewhere far more private than a cart in the middle of the city’s busiest district.

“Almost there, almost there,” Harry said aloud, and part of Louis wanted to shout at him to shut the hell up, but part of him was intently grateful to hear the assurance. The cart moved faster and faster, the sound of Watson’s hooves clopping at a greater pace, until they were finally no longer surrounded by the busy sounds of the marketplace anymore. There was blessed silence, and shifting light, as they pulled into an indoor setting, and Louis gratefully let go of the cart only to feel immense pain flood into his arms and legs. He groaned and curled up, and even as he heard Zayn and the wolf begin making the noises that meant their transformations were upon them, he also heard Harry scrambling down from the driver’s seat.

Louis forced himself to roll out from under the cart, and pushed unsteadily to a stand. Harry had jerked open the cart’s door, and Louis could see why once he caught sight of the wolf—he was already whimpering with exhaustion from the impending transformation, lying on his belly harmlessly. Zayn slowly stroked at his fur, his eyes falling shut as patterns of feathers began emerging along his skin.

Louis looked away as the transformations finished, unable to bring himself to see the agony in Zayn and Liam’s faces once more. He tried to convince himself that this was the last time.

When Liam came to, the hawk was flapping its wings unhappily, a protest against the small space it found itself in. Liam seized the hawk, shushing it even as he began crawling out of the cart.

“Liam,” Harry said, and Louis could tell from his tone that he was going to try a last-ditch effort at convincing Liam to abandon his condition.

“Harry, I told you,” Liam said firmly. “When your eclipse happens, you can bring him to the church and we’ll follow your plan. But until it does, you’re going to keep him out of harm’s way. And if the eclipse doesn’t come, I’m going to kill the Bishop.”

“You _know_ Zayn wouldn’t want this,” Harry said, raking his hands through his hair with frustration. “You know he’ll be furious. And we don’t know the exact time that the eclipse will come—what if you kill the Bishop and it was just a few minutes late? You could ruin our one chance, Liam!”

Louis looked into Liam’s eyes and saw in them the type of certainty that got people killed. He felt his stomach roll as one look at Liam confirmed for him that Liam still had little to no faith in the eclipse—Liam intended to kill the Bishop, and probably get himself executed in the process, because he believed that to be the only way to set Zayn free. Liam didn’t need to say anything, because even Harry clearly realized that persuading him now was a lost cause.

Liam held out the arm on which the hawk was resting. It cawed in protest as it was forced to move to Harry’s arm. Liam ran a hand soothingly down its back, looking into its eyes for a long moment. His own eyes were deep with sorrow.

“I love you,” he whispered. “And I’m going to save you.”

As Louis followed Liam out of the barn, he heard the sounds of the hawk struggling against Harry’s hold. He turned and saw it trying to flap away, to follow them.

“Blindfold him,” Liam said, without turning or slowing in his steps. “It will calm the hawk down.”

 

* * *

 

Niall met them at the church’s entrance, having silently opened one of the smaller doors from the inside while the congregation of citizens listened to the Bishop’s regular speech. Louis gripped Niall in a tight hug as soon as he saw him, and Liam averted his eyes from them as he drew his sword. He had to focus, he told himself. That was why he found himself incapable of looking on at the reunited lovers.

 

* * *

 

Harry couldn’t bring himself to blindfold the hawk, despite Liam’s suggestion. Instead, he acted as its reluctant jailer, tying it down by one of its talons so that the piece of rope he had looped around it kept it chained to his arm.

If there had ever been a question that the animals had some connection to their human counterparts, it was well laid to rest. The hawk had a preternaturally human persistence, and Harry was almost certain that it somehow knew Zayn had been betrayed.

All Harry wanted was to cut the hawk free, but if he did so before the eclipse, he didn’t know what disaster might ensue. What if the Bishop or his guards somehow captured the hawk and used it as leverage? What if Liam saw the hawk, panicked, and killed the Bishop instead of waiting? Despite the fact that Liam clearly had no true faith in the eclipse, Harry couldn’t risk the potential that he might abandon the plan even earlier than he already intended to.

So Harry found himself pacing, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared out at the morning sun, praying that at any moment it might begin going dark. He tried to ignore the hawk’s cries, the way its beak tore at his clothes and cut at his flesh.

Harry didn’t know how much time passed. He felt that he was going mad with worry—all he could think of was Liam killing the Bishop, even at this very second, and making the curse permanent.

In one moment, two things happened at once: Harry became distracted by what he thought might be an odd shape near the sun in the sky, and the rope, which the hawk had been tearing at ineffectually for so long, finally snapped. Before Harry could do more than jolt with surprise, the hawk was flying out of his arms, out of the barn, and toward the church.

 

* * *

 

Leading up to this moment, Liam had been heaving breaths, his own blood dripping from the light armor that he wore. The Marquis was down, the unconscious bodies of guards lay strewn around where he stood, and the citizens who had borne witness to it all were staring in shocked silence as he confronted the Bishop. Liam’s sword was heavy but secure in his hand, and Niall and Louis were too busy holding off the last of the guards to even think of stopping him as he stepped closer, toward the now-defenseless Bishop.

Liam tilted the edge of the blade against the Bishop’s neck, savoring the way the Bishop froze in terror. Liam’s chest still heaved with breath, but the years that had been spent preparing for this moment allowed him to keep his sword arm perfectly still. At last, he was here, and though he knew that the victory would probably be short-lived, he couldn’t think of a better way to die than by ridding the world of the monster before him.

 _If I can’t be with Zayn, I can at least free him before the end_ , he thought.

And Liam raised his sword to do just that when an inhuman cry, one he was incapable of not recognizing, echoed out in the chamber. His blade still held above the Bishop, Liam turned to the palace entrance, from which, impossibly, Zayn was flying. There was a second in which Liam wasn’t able to process what he was seeing, before the sunlight streaming into the chamber from its windows took on a strange tint.

In that instant, Zayn, who was already flying low, careened unexpectedly and tumbled to the ground. Liam saw from the corner of his eye that the Bishop was taking advantage of his distraction to minutely edge himself away from the sword at his neck, but Liam could not bring himself to care, because what began as staring in horror at Zayn’s fall– had he somehow been injured?– turned into a different kind of staring altogether.

As he tripped in air, as he jolted to the floor, Zayn began changing. And the sight was familiar, but had never been so clear before—Liam was used to seeing Zayn’s feathers molt away, his body grow, his legs lengthen, his gorgeous face emerge from the sharp facade of the hawk, only through the eyes of a shifting wolf. The torment of the image, the pain of how close Liam always felt to being near Zayn during their transformations despite their irreparable distance, was entirely absent in this moment. Zayn was changing… and Liam was not.

The room grew darker every second, as Niall let out a cry of relief and Harry sprinted into the room behind Zayn, coming to an unsteady halt next to a white-faced Louis. Zayn’s body– his _human_ body– now toppled to the floor, began twisting in surprise and confusion. Liam felt himself obsessing over every detail of Zayn, incapable of looking away from all of the small features that he had been denied for so long. Zayn was wearing worn breeches tucked into the cuffs of his boots, his dirt-stained shirt loose around him and carelessly unbuttoned near the top. His hair was cropped short, much shorter than it had been in his days as a lord, and Liam found that it made him see, if only in a minute way, the lingering hawk within the man, which had perhaps been present long before the Bishop’s curse. Liam drank in the image of Zayn like a man dying of thirst. He felt as if his heart had stopped, as if the only thing that could revive him from the shock of seeing Zayn in this way would be to never, ever look away from him again.

 

* * *

 

Zayn stumbled to his feet, arms partly aloft for balance, not entirely sure that he didn’t still have wings. He was breathless, his heart racing and blood pounding in his ears despite the dead silence of the church. He glanced from face to face, from one side of the room to another, desperately trying to orient himself despite the fact that he wasn’t even sure of his own body.

But when his gaze landed on the Bishop, whose slack-jawed expression mirrored those of their observers, but whose eyes were unique in their dread, Zayn straightened his back with renewed composure. Because above the Bishop’s prostrate body, holding a sword unflinchingly just over his neck, his body as precise and deadly and beautiful as Zayn remembered it, stood Liam, who was staring at Zayn. Liam’s brows were still furrowed with rage, but as his eyes met Zayn’s, they seemed to melt, and the rest of his features followed suit.

Liam stood unmoving, and Zayn felt himself begin to walk forward, still a little unsteady on his feet. At first he was slow, but as he found his balance, he began to stride more quickly, and as he closed the distance between them, Liam stumbled away from the Bishop, his sword hanging loosely at his side.

Liam took three steps forward and allowed his sword to drop to the ground, disregarding its clashing against the stone, which echoed across the room. Zayn came to a stop at a distance from Liam—they were not quite in range to touch one another, but Zayn was close enough to see that Liam’s eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion and with the tears that had begun to trail down his cheeks. Liam stared, and Zayn didn’t know what to do or say. He wished for nothing more than to be able to take Liam in his arms, but he found that he was breathless with the vision before him. The vertigo of his transformation combined with that of the miracle he was seeing, and it was all he could do to stay upright.

Liam took an unsteady half step forward, and raised a shaking hand to gently graze against Zayn’s left cheek. They both jolted when he made contact. It had been so long since Zayn had felt the warmth of Liam’s touch, and though it was almost alien to him– a notion that sent a shiver of horror through his body– there was some long ago-buried part of Zayn that remembered. He remembered every chaste brush of Liam’s hand against his own in public, every desperate, hungry kiss that they exchanged in the dead of night or in hasty hiding places. He remembered the first time Liam raised Zayn’s knuckles to his lips, looking up at him through long lashes, with devotion in his eyes of the sort that Zayn had never seen before—of the sort that Zayn himself had never felt before he met Liam.

An instant later, Liam was crowding Zayn with abandon, taking him in his arms and pressing their foreheads together, his gaze drinking in Zayn’s face as if he would die without it.

“Is this real?” Liam breathed, his voice cracking. He did not, or could not, look away from Zayn’s eyes even as he clutched their bodies tighter together.

Zayn finally caught his breath, for the first time in months, and the air he inhaled was the sweetest he had ever tasted. He gripped Liam by the waist with one hand, by the back of the neck with another.

“I swear it on my life,” he said.

Liam swept him into a kiss. It was everything at once, charged with a thousand feelings that Zayn hadn’t thought it was possible to express without words. Some part of him registered that somewhere, the Bishop was crying out with fury and agony, but he could not do anything in the moment besides push forward into the kiss, returning every fraction of the heat that Liam was pouring into the meeting of their bodies.

Zayn couldn’t have said how much time passed before they parted. All he knew was that his whole being thrilled with absolute, unbelievable relief. When their kiss finally did break off, he and Liam refused to step away from one another, instead turning to face the rest of the chamber with arms tightly wound around waists. Niall, Harry, and Louis were all hanging onto one another as if to stay upright as much as to celebrate, tears and gratitude shining in different ways among their eyes. The people of the city stared, agape, at the display before them, and it was the direction of some of their gazes that drew Zayn’s attention to the still-prone body of the Bishop.

He lay on his back, weakly propping himself up with an arm to stare at Zayn and Liam. His jaw was clenched, his eyes brimming with hatred and grief. His own feelings were nothing, however, compared to the rage that welled up inside Zayn when he properly looked into the face of his tormenter.

He detached himself from Liam, stepping away even as Liam made a noise of protest. He strode forward, across the church, unwrapping the reviled strap of leather from his wrist as he did. The Bishop’s eyes widened as he saw Zayn approach, and he became so fearful that he tried to drag himself backward. But his exhaustion from the fight and the breaking of his curse wouldn’t allow him to get far, and it was only a moment before Zayn was standing over him, looking down into his cowering face.

A long, deadly pause filled the room. Zayn raised a fist over the Bishop and then opened it, allowing the strap, his would-be collar, to crumple to the ground next to its equally broken master.

The Bishop howled, a sound that echoed across the room and made almost everyone flinch with shock and disgust. Zayn was the only one who did not react to the Bishop’s cry. He looked into the Bishop’s eyes unflinchingly, even as the Bishop clutched at his own chest and gasped for breath. He continued staring into the Bishop’s eyes as the Bishop fell back to the ground, convulsing. Zayn continued staring, refused to look away for even an instant, until the Bishop finally died, his own heart having failed in the face of his loss—Zayn’s regained love, his regained life, having been too much for the Bishop’s body to bear.

Zayn breathed easy. He was truly free. He turned, met Liam’s gaze, and walked back to meet him. Liam wrapped his arms around Zayn, burying his face in Zayn’s neck as Zayn did the same.

“Look at us,” Liam whispered, his breath warm and perfect against Zayn’s skin.

Zayn began to feel tears well up in his eyes.

“Look at us.”

 

* * *

 

Niall met Louis’ gaze, and saw in it the same disbelieving, overwhelming relief he could feel in himself. He felt a light weight on his shoulder and turned to see Harry resting his head against Niall’s body, exhausted. In the moment, all that Niall wanted to do was stay there, in stillness, and be grateful for Zayn and Liam and for himself, for having Louis and Harry at his side. But as he looked back at Zayn and Liam, at their tears and desperate embrace, he felt as if he were watching something beyond private, beyond intimate. Something sacred.

Louis and Harry seemed to agree, because it only took an exchanged glance with each of them for Harry to begin quietly leading the way out of the church. Niall lingered for half a second, wishing there were a way to say goodbye properly, but knowing that he could never bring himself to be the reason for Zayn and Liam separating, even if only for a moment. He contented himself with being near Louis and Harry, with following them and knowing that he would continue to have them just like Zayn and Liam finally, properly had each other.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Harry froze mid-step at the sound of Liam’s voice, causing Niall and Louis to stumble against his back. Their bodies having tangled, Niall was certain they were seconds away from crashing to the floor in an embarrassing heap, but a cool hand suddenly encircled his elbow and held him up. Bewildered, he looked up into Zayn’s dark eyes, somehow even more intense than they were when he was a hawk.

Liam was on Niall’s other side, gripping Harry’s arm in one hand and Louis’ in another.

“We–” Niall started, but he was cut off by Zayn firmly tugging him into his arms. Liam did the same to Harry and Louis, and their collective proximity made them all fall into one another again. Niall found himself in a bizarre five-person embrace. Several long moments passed, and Niall felt his shoulders’ surprised stiffness melt away as he allowed himself to feel the warmth of the four other boys.

“I can’t believe you thought we’d just let you leave,” Zayn said, his voice still cracked with emotion.

Liam pulled them all in even closer. “Never.”

There was a charged moment of unspeakable gratitude and love. Niall let it wash over him, let himself feel the depth of their connection.

“Well… forgive us for not wanting to watch you two swoon all over each other,” Louis grumbled. He looked deeply moved and deeply uncomfortable about it. “Next time we’ll pull up seats like the crowd over there and be a proper audience, shall we?”

“Jealous?” Zayn asked, a wicked smile coming over his face. Before Louis could respond, Zayn stepped out of the circle and pulled Louis with him, planting a brief but decisive kiss on his lips.

Niall couldn’t help but burst into laughter in response. The odd solemnity of their collective embrace broken, Liam promptly began lecturing, despite the amusement in his own eyes.

“Louis already has a lover, Zayn.” He shot a thoughtful look among Harry, Niall, and Louis before adding, “Maybe even two.”

Harry blushed, and Niall himself felt a heat come over his face. Louis looked far too dazed from the kiss to reply properly. Zayn brought a hand up to cup the side of Liam’s face and murmured something in response that Niall couldn’t hear.

“That’s enough from all of you,” Niall announced, coughing away his embarrassment. “I was on my way to a well-deserved drink before you interrupted.”

And as they all began talking over one another even more loudly, Niall found himself staring at the way Zayn and Liam’s bodies fit so perfectly against one another. He didn’t know how the five of them had so improbably found one another, and could only suppose that Harry’s words had been right after all.

 _You’re in it with the rest of us,_ he had said, and that would be true for the rest of their lives.

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

When Zayn entered the room, Liam’s heart skipped a beat. Zayn was wearing finery of the sort that Liam hadn’t seen in years—the robes were deep blue, with cream colored lining, and they looked almost as soft and delicate as Zayn’s perfect, dark skin. He stood tall, his features all exactly accented by his attire, and he looked every bit the lord that he had always been. Liam was struck, in light of Zayn’s beauty, by how common he himself must have looked in comparison.

He was, he reminded himself, the captain of the guard again, and yes, his armor shone the brighter for it, the sigil over his heart a symbol to the world of where his service– where his love, for that matter– would always lie. But a vicious voice in Liam’s head whispered that no one could look at him and think him to be the betrothed of the most beautiful nobleman– the most beautiful _person_ – in the land.

Zayn scanned the room, smiling in response to all of the gazes he met, but in a moment, he saw Liam, and he froze. Liam only allowed their sightlines to meet for a moment before he felt compelled to drop his gaze to the floor.

 _Coward_ , he thought. _You were willing to kill a man for moments like this, and now you’re too flustered to even look at him._

It was probably for the best, though, Liam supposed as he continued to carefully study the stone beneath his feet. Zayn had to speak with important people, after all, about all of the policies and laws he’d been instating to correct the cruelties inflicted by the Bishop. The past weeks had been a storm of change, of never-ending meetings and petitions and campaigns. In fact, it felt as if Liam had barely been able to see Zayn since Zayn took his place as the proper ruler of Aquila.

It wasn’t fair, he knew, for him to begrudge the city its claim on Zayn. And he could never blame Zayn for the devotion with which he had attempted to save his people—it was what he did, what he’d always done, and it was one of the ten thousand reasons why Liam loved Zayn more than he could ever hope to express. But when Zayn collapsed into their bed late in the nights, his body lagging with exhaustion, Liam wanted nothing more than to be the one to take care of Zayn, and though he knew that it was selfish of him to wish some days that he could keep Zayn entirely to himself, he couldn’t help but do just that.

A cool, soft hand took Liam’s left cheek, and he was surprised to find his face being drawn upright. He found himself looking, an instant later, into Zayn’s expectant gaze.

Zayn looked awed, his lips barely parted and his eyes bright and wide.

“I swear, it feels like I’ve walked into a memory,” Zayn murmured, his words obviously intended only for Liam’s ears. “You’re wearing your armor. You’re– you’re wearing my sigil.”

Liam took Zayn’s hand in his own, drawing it away from his face and to his heart.

“Because I’m yours,” Liam said, more certain of this than he was of the sun or the moon. “My Lord.”

Zayn drew forward even closer, resting his forehead against Liam’s, and part of Liam registered that the room had grown silent around them, but he was too consumed by the feeling of Zayn’s body against his own to react.

“And I’m yours,” Zayn murmured. For a perfect second, Liam basked in it.

A moment later, Zayn gave Liam a mischievous look and tilted his head so that his lips brushed against Liam’s ear. Liam felt his pulse rise with sudden anticipation. Zayn’s voice dropped an octave, and it was nothing short of sinful when he whispered, “But I thought I told you not to call me ‘my Lord…’ Captain.”

Liam felt his knees go weak. Someone coughed very loudly, and Liam looked up to see Niall, Harry, and Louis, all in their best finery, looking alternately amused and unimpressed.

“If Lord Malik and Captain Payne would like to take this elsewhere?” Louis asked pointedly, drawling their titles with more sarcasm than Liam felt was strictly necessary. Liam felt his face and neck go warm with embarrassment, as he didn’t have to glance around to sense that pages and diplomats alike throughout the chamber were all staring at them. This was not how the first celebration of Aquila’s liberation was supposed to go. It was meant to be more… dignified, Liam suspected.

Zayn was not only unphased by the attention, but actively smirked in the direction of their friends, holding his head high and casually entwining his arm with Liam’s even as he took a measured step back.

“If our guests would be so kind as to step into the next hall,” Zayn announced.

Conversation and the sounds of movement overtook the room as everyone began making their way through the elaborate, grand doors. Liam moved to step aside and out of Zayn’s grasp, in order to join the other guards at the edge of the room, but Zayn gripped his arm decisively.

“Stay with me?” he asked lowly, his voice’s uncertainty contrasting with the confidence of his touch.

Liam looked into Zayn’s eyes, though he didn’t have to, to know that he would do anything Zayn asked.

“Of course,” Liam said. Then, because he couldn’t quite help it, he added, “My Lord.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow, and Liam was immensely grateful that no one was looking at them anymore.

 

* * *

 

“You know, I have noticed,” Zayn said that night, loosening the collar of his shirt as he leaned back in the chair from which he managed city documents in the privacy of their chambers.

Liam glanced up from his own chair on the other side of the room. “Noticed what?”

Zayn turned to face him, giving him an unimpressed look. “Noticed you looking like a kicked puppy of late, for reasons I’m still unclear on.”

Liam averted his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zayn sighed and stood, pushing the documents in front of him away in the process. Liam chanced a look up into his eyes again.

“It’s just–” Liam began, then cut himself off, because he wasn’t sure how to convey what he had been feeling. “It seems unfair that you should work so hard when you’ve only just been set free from the curse.”

Zayn tilted his head marginally. He now stood a step away from his desk, and Liam found himself becoming a bit distracted by the image of Zayn, dishevelled and casual after a long day, his image softened by the candlelight of the room. His clothes looked less precise, less crisp… more susceptible to being taken off.

“ _You_ have resumed all of your old duties too,” Zayn pointed out. “And you’ve also just been freed.”

“But I–”

“But you’re stronger?” Zayn suggested in a dangerous tone. Liam stood, already shaking his head. “You can handle it, but I can’t? Which is why you _ignored_ the plan and left the hawk with Harry while you–”

“No!” Liam protested. God, would they ever stop having this argument? “It’s the opposite. I– I wish that I could…”

Zayn strode forward, so that he was mere inches from Liam. “What?”

“I wish that I could take care of you,” Liam admitted. “Not because I think you need it! But because it would make me feel… useful.”

Zayn’s eyes softened. Liam felt his heart beating slightly faster than usual, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of what he had thought was the impending argument, or because of something else.

“That’s foolish,” Zayn said lowly. “What do you mean, ‘useful?’ Liam, how could you not think that you’re everything to me?”

“I can tell that you’re exhausted,” Liam said. “Don’t deny it. And even though I’m here and could help, you never ask it of me.”

A determined light flared up in Zayn’s eyes. “Get on the bed.”

Liam’s mouth went dry. The air suddenly felt charged. A moment passed, and then Liam, his heart now racing with excitement, turned to walk to their large, absurdly soft bed. He sat at the edge.

“Do you remember how we used to do this?” Zayn asked. Liam didn’t need to ask what Zayn was referring to. The first night after he and Zayn had broken the curse, the sex had been achingly sweet, with kisses and touches as soft and tender as were possible. And it had been perfect, and familiar, but sex before the curse had sometimes been of a different sort.

“If I want you to stop, I’ll tell you to,” Liam said. His breeches felt tight. “But what… what are you doing?”

Zayn strode forward, until he was standing over Liam and Liam had to look up to meet his gaze.

“I’m showing you that _we_ take care of _each other_ ,” Zayn said. “You aren’t meant to be ‘useful’ to me, you’re meant to be my love.” His expression and his words were so sincere, Liam forgot his lust for half a moment, lost as he was in savoring Zayn.

“And,” Zayn added a moment later, his eyes darker than usual with arousal, “I’m going to make you cry with pleasure.”

Liam felt a thrill run through his body.

“Please,” he said quickly, unable to keep the slight breathlessness from his voice.

“Take off your clothes,” Zayn said, his own voice already nearly wrecked with desire. “And lie down.”

Liam immediately began stripping, tugging at the fabric of his clothes even as he leaned back on his elbows and pulled himself backward onto the bed. It took him several long seconds, but finally he was entirely naked and laid out before Zayn, his face and chest flush with arousal, his erection full. He looked up at Zayn and felt the heat in his body rise even more as he took in the vision of Zayn, standing entirely clothed over Liam’s exposed body. Though Zayn was covered, he was far from composed, and Liam groaned with want when he saw the fire in Zayn’s eyes and the way his dick strained against his breeches.

Zayn began to strip. Liam watched hungrily as more and more of Zayn’s skin came into his view, as he carelessly dropped his shirt and underclothes. His toned muscles and broad chest, often hidden beneath elaborate political costume, were finally on display for Liam alone.

Finally, Zayn kneeled at the end of the bed, taking Liam by the legs with each hand. Liam eagerly sat up.

Zayn looked into his eyes, and Liam couldn’t hold back anymore. He flipped their positions easily—strong Zayn may be, but Liam had always been better at close combat. A moment later, Zayn was on his back and Liam was kneeling between his legs, taking his dick in his mouth. Zayn moaned at the feeling of Liam’s tongue running over him, his head falling back as Liam sucked.

“I– I didn’t tell you to do that,” Zayn gasped. Liam hollowed his cheeks and savored the way Zayn’s hips jolted forward as he cried out with pleasure. Liam continued sucking, his head bobbing over Zayn with enthusiasm, the taste of precum bitter and perfect in his mouth.

Zayn was writhing, his fingers buried in Liam’s hair. Liam’s hands firmly held Zayn’s hips down, the only thing keeping part of him in place. Zayn struggled, trying to thrust up into Liam’s mouth, but Liam’s hold did not relent, and Zayn could do nothing but moan and fall back into the bed as Liam sucked his dick at a steady pace. This was one of Liam’s favorite things—they switched sides with ease when they did this, and it was a large part of the pleasure, that Zayn could have Liam helpless and at his mercy in one moment, but the roles could be reversed in the next. As Zayn’s breath quickened, as Liam could feel his dick tensing with near-release, he reached up with one hand to twist at one of Zayn’s nipples.

Zayn climaxed with a shout, and Liam continued sucking, swallowing his cum with well-practiced expertise. Long seconds passed as Zayn seemed to melt beneath Liam’s touch and Liam came up for air. They both breathed heavily, and Liam allowed himself to fall by Zayn’s side so that they lay parallel.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Liam asked, even as he continued to catch his breath. He couldn’t help but prod. “I just wanted to help. To make myself useful. Was that so wrong?”

Zayn turned his head to look at Liam. When Liam mirrored his position, he took in Zayn’s dishevelled hair and blown eyes, the way his lips had been freshly bitten. He looked utterly dazed, and it detracted a bit from the annoyed expression he tried to give Liam. The thought must have shown in Liam’s own face, because a moment later, Zayn looked indignant.

“Spread your legs.”

Liam eagerly did, as Zayn reached below their bed for a vial they kept there. A moment later, Zayn was kneeling between Liam’s legs, spreading them further as he balanced one on his shoulder, and Liam’s pulse quickened as he soon felt the cool air of the room against his exposed hole.

One finger, coated in lubricant, gently probed Liam a few seconds later, and he moaned in response. Zayn pressed in and out, and the tight sensation of Zayn’s finger in his hole made Liam’s dick even harder. It jutted up in the air, and he reached to grip it with one hand, but Zayn took him by the offending wrist and held it down even as he probed Liam’s hole deeper and faster.

Liam gasped when Zayn added a second slick finger and skimmed against his prostate.

“Please,” he said. “Zayn, please, please, I have to–” he cut himself off with a renewed moan, unable to even articulate what he needed, he was so affected by the pleasure.

Zayn pressed relentlessly, curling his fingers just so, causing every sense in Liam’s body to nearly overload with pleasure.

Liam threw his head back, with overwhelmed frustration and desire. “ _Zayn_!”

Zayn added a third finger, and the lubricant was dripping out of Liam’s hole, and the feeling of Zayn’s nimble touch against him made Liam want nothing more than to take his dick in his free hand and finally experience the friction he so desperately needed. He would have, too, if the feeling of being denied wasn’t so delicious.

“You look so perfect,” Zayn said, breathless. “My love. Not my subject, not my captain. Just my Liam.”

He leaned down to lick a single stripe up Liam’s dick, and Liam finally came, his semen spilling all over his chest and stomach, his eyes brimming with tears at the pleasure of it.

He was foggy headed as he came down from the orgasm. Zayn looked still-disoriented himself. Liam took Zayn by an arm and tugged him down, ignoring the hot stickiness of his own body. Zayn went willingly enough, resting an arm below his head to lie facing Liam.

“Are we understood?” Zayn asked.

Liam, still catching his breath, managed to raise an eyebrow in Zayn’s direction.

“I think we are, my Lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](http://zeeyum.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Please leave feedback if you enjoyed it!


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